The Mortal Instruments: Saphira's Tale
by K.Bixby
Summary: It is the year 1878, in London. Will and Jem are training to be Shadowhunters. But after a party at Magnus Bane's, mysterious events begin to happen. The Icelandic Institute is destroyed by an army of demons. Shadowhunters are disappearing left and right. And it's up to Will, Jem, The Lightwoods, and an Icelandic Shadowhunter to find out why.


(**I own none of the characters except for the ones I created)**

Will Herondale was awoken by screaming. _Whaa? _his groggy, hungover mind couldn't rationalize what this meant. He threw open his door, and stepped out into the hallway, still in his party clothes form the night before. "Jessamine," he called. "If you lost your hair ribbons again, they're hidden in the-" he was cut off as the blur of blond hair that was Jessamine threw herself onto his chest.

"Oh, Will, it's awful," she sobbed, clutching at his shirt.

Carefully disentangling himself from the hysterical girl, Will took a few steps back. "Whoa, Jessie. What happened?"

"It's Marcel Pangborn. He's gone missing!"

* * *

Will sat, fully dressed, at the dining room table. Jem, Jessamine, Charlotte, and Henry also sat at their places. Sophie hovered near the door, not sure what she should be doing. Each person had a heaping pile of eggs, bacon, and scones in front of them, but no one felt like eating. Charlotte was speaking.

"We have just received word from the Clave," she said, holding a letter in her trembling hand. "Marcel's disappearance was not the only strange event that happened last night."

"Wait," interrupted Will. "Are we quite sure that Marcel didn't get just extremely drunk, and fall into the canal? It wouldn't be the first time a Shadowhunter..." he broke off at Charlotte's grave expression.

"Marcel was at Banes' party last night, but everyone who saw him confirmed that he never touched a drink in his life. He departed from the party at eleven o'clock last night. He never got home. The remains of his carriage were found on Main Street. His horse's throat was cut, but his body was nowhere to be found. This was not an accident, but an intentional attack."

Will yawned, and put his feet on the table. "Maybe some drunk Downworlders took him into the Pandemonium club. That's not the first time that that's happened. Marcel's a handsome young bloke. Maybe they decided to-"

"WILL! A little seriousness please!" snapped Charlotte, swatting his feet down from the table. "Last night, the Institute in Iceland was also destroyed."

The information hit Will like a wave. _How can this be? _he thought. _My friends...Bjorn..._ Jem's face mirrored everything he was feeling. He wanted to say so much, but the words were strangled in his throat. Jem asked the question that was burning in him.

"How did it happen?"

"No one knows," said Charlotte, tiredly. "Gabriel Lightwood was going on an exchange trip to the Institute, and arrived late last night. The Institute was up in flames by that point, and everything was destroyed. Gabriel went inside to investigate. Each and every room was smashed to pieces by a great force, and the drapery clawed up. Gabriel only found one survivor. He wrote a letter immediately, and sent it by Faerie Mail. It reached us early this morning. We also received a letter from the Consul, telling us of Marcel's disappearance. He wishes us to investigate, and find out if the two events are linked."

Will looked over at Jem. His _parabatai _was nodding, and looking towards Charlotte with alert interest. Jessamine was still sobbing. It was no surprise; she had been very good friends with Marcel Pangborn. Henry was anxiously tinkering with something in his pocket. Sophie's expression was one of utmost shock. Then a thought struck Will.

"Charlotte," he said. She turned to look at him. "You said that Gabriel found one survivor from the Iceland Institute. What happened to them?"

"Gabriel immediately Portaled back here, as soon as he could, bringing the last Icelandic Shadowhunter with him. They stayed the night in a tavern in Yorkshire. Both should be here any minute now," Charlotte glanced through the door.

As if on queue, a knock sounded on the handsome oak door. "Come in!" Charlotte called.

The door opened, and two figures in black traveling cloaks stepped inside. The first, who was Gabriel Lightwood, through back his hood, and rushed into the room. "I-Oh, hello!" he said, taking in the room. His eyes narrowed when he saw Will. Then he turned to Charlotte, and addressed her. "Charlotte. I brought her," he said, somewhat lamely.

_Her? _thought Will.

The other figure, who was considerably smaller than Gabriel, drew back her hood. It was indeed a girl. But a more pretty girl than Will thought he had ever seen. She had to be about Will's and Jem's age, around sixteen or seventeen, but had a face that did not look a day older than fourteen or fifteen. She had pale skin, and long dark hair, which was wavy and loose down to her waist. Her lips were full, and bow-shaped. It was her eyes that stood out the most. One was a bright, Icelandic typical blue, but the other one was a strange color of gold. It was not like any color Will had ever seen before. Then she spoke. Her voice was high and clear, like the bubbling of the brooks on the Welsh countryside.

"Hello," she said, with a slight Icelandic accent. "I am Saphira Blackburn. The last living Shadowhunter from the Icelandic Institute. I've come here to help locate the source of all this...unpleasantness."


End file.
